


Naturally

by triplezzz



Series: Through the years [1]
Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 乐华七子NEXT | NEX7, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Childhood Friends, Growing Up Together, Light Angst, M/M, minor zhengchen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 16:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15198995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplezzz/pseuds/triplezzz
Summary: For as long as Wenjun can remember, Zhengting has always been by his side.





	1. Chapter 1

Zhengting likes grape-flavoured gummy candy.

 

He likes chewing on dried squid strips when studying, going through one packet in one sitting and double the amount when the subject is math. He prefers soups to fried foods, a regular customer of the convenience store ready-to-eat meals whenever the canteen menu doesn’t satisfy his taste. He doesn’t eat raw fish but loves seafood, hates celery and tolerates broccoli, especially dislikes the lotus root slices in hot pot – always passing them over to Wenjun’s bowl.

 

He claims he isn’t scared of ghosts, but nobody wants to sit with him during a horror movie because he startles too much. Wenjun doesn’t think it’s that bad, although that might be because he’s gotten used to sitting beside him every single time, be it at the cinema or in one of their rooms.

 

He commutes to school by bicycle and arrives pristine in the morning without a single speck of sweat, releasing his clutch on Wenjun’s sides to plop down from the back seat and let the younger boy park the vehicle on shaky legs. Handing him a freshly washed handkerchief, he announces the day’s recorded time and clicks his tongue whenever it exceeds the usual number, to which Wenjun responds with an accusation of “you must’ve gotten heavier.” The slaps Wenjun get on his arms always hurt, but he laughs in the midst of his grimace because Zhengting is laughing too, face indignant yet amused. _It’s because you’re too skinny_ , he reasons, setting a rule on his own accord to have Wenjun bike him to school everyday.

 

“I’m helping you build muscle for free, see?” he retorts, poking Wenjun’s thighs, which admittedly have gotten a lot sturdier since they started this arrangement.

 

He buys an unhealthy amount of snacks on the daily and shares it with everyone, not excepting Wenjun despite him being in a different class and different year, finding a way to drop by and personally deliver the nibbles to his desk regardless of their differing break times. Everyday without fail, without ever getting scolded by the teachers because he’s their favourite.

 

Wenjun knows all this because he has spent most of his life with Zhengting by his side.

 

.

 

It starts way back before his memory could recall. Living in the same complex, houses side by side, the only kids in the same age range in the neighbourhood, parents friends before they were even born. All he knows is that Zhengting has always been there.

 

On the first day of school, when he couldn’t stop twiddling his fingers, his backpack straps and the hem of his uniform shorts, Zhengting had sat beside him in his dad’s car, humming his favourite cartoon tune until he noticed Wenjun growing quieter and quieter. Hands grabbed over his trembling pair and he almost yelped, jolting in his seat, but the hold only got tighter when he looked at Zhengting.

 

“It’s okay. I’m here,” he said, eyes vivid and mouth curved up.

 

He didn’t let go even after they entered the building, into Wenjun’s classroom where countless pairs of strangers’ eyes were boring into them. Zhengting lifted up his face and squished his cheeks, poking his thumbs into the flesh until it formed a smile.

 

“I’ll just be over there, you see?”

 

Wenjun traced the finger pointing over to the room across, and then back to Zhengting’s smiling eyes.

 

“You can find me anytime. It’s okay,” he repeated, giving Wenjun’s hands one last squeeze.

 

Those palms had been small and soft, fingers short and chubby, but they were enough to warm Wenjun for hours to come.

 

 

The morning his little brother was born, Zhengting’s mother was the one to pick them up from school, all three of them chattering throughout the cab ride and rushing to the ward once they arrived at the hospital.

 

It was the first time he saw his dad crying, the sight shocking him enough to drown all the cooing and squealing around. As his dad carefully lowered the blue bundle into his arms, he thought he understood somehow. The tiny face was red and wrinkly–quite unlike the picture of babies he had in his mind–but the moment it peered up at him in a curious stare Wenjun felt a fraction of his heart stolen.

 

Something grasped the corner of his sleeve, and he turned to see Zhengting standing slightly behind him, lip painfully tugged between his teeth, gazing at the baby as if it was his own sibling that had just been born.

 

“You’re a big brother now,” was what he whispered after a prolonged silence, words a final push for the droplets to fall down his lashes. Wenjun felt his own eyes well up as he laughed at Zhengting's tears.

 

 

This particular weekend started out just like any other, with Zhengting badgering Wenjun into accompanying him wherever he felt like going. Also as usual, he complied without much of a fuss, not suspecting much when Zhengting insisted he brought his yo-yo because they both knew he needed a distraction for when the older boy inevitably became too absorbed in his shopping.

 

What wasn't ordinary, however, was the amount of people loitering around the mall at ten in the morning. As Zhengting continued to wordlessly drag him through the main hall, his initial assumption of there being some kind of special sale met its demise when he saw the registration table approaching closer. Briefly greeting the staff in charge, Zhengting proceeded to whip out his phone for a code, watching the staff type it in and cracking a grin when she read out Wenjun’s name. All the while Wenjun gaped at him, stiff body tugged away towards the food court.

 

“Your turn isn’t until later. We still have time to eat,” he chirped lightly, offering no further explanation as to when and why he had registered Wenjun for a citywide yo-yo competition. It wasn’t until a few bites in that Wenjun managed to ask for more specifics, in vain, because _‘that’s not important’_ and _‘you’ll do great, don’t worry’_ were the only answers he received.

 

Soon, way too soon, there was a numbered sticker stuck on his shirt and other participants around him, waiting at the side of the stage. The call for the next batch came and yet his feet refused to move. A smack on his back, painful and familiar – he turned around to seek Zhengting’s eyes, nerves melting as noise faded and his voice became the only thing Wenjun could hear.

 

“You’ve got this.”

 

He ended up having to go alone the day after, having advanced into the second round. Zhengting had fretted non-stop about it earlier in the morning, reluctant to leave for school despite having to take an additional exam, unreasonably contemplating to ditch it altogether.

 

“Then what about your grades,” rebuked Wenjun, “don’t blame me if you don’t get accepted into that high school you want.”

 

“I’ll just have to repeat a year then. We’ll be in the same class and I’ll bug you everyday and demand you to do all my homework and tests–”

 

Palms flat on his backpack, Wenjun pushed Zhengting out of his room, out of the house and to the yard where his bicycle was waiting, taking twice the time it should have because Zhengting kept leaning back his weight and refusing to budge, which in turn made Wenjun resort to tickling him. It almost descended into an all out tickle war, had it not been for Zhengting’s mother’s voice telling him to hurry it up.

 

Both were panting when they finally got outside, giggles and chuckles filling the air until it grew quiet. So Wenjun looked up and saw Zhengting’s hesitant grip on the handles, the little frown on his lips that told him all about the guilt he was currently feeling, and his own smile faltered, replaced by something along the line of exasperated fondness.

 

“Don’t be silly,” he chided. “Just go and do your test properly, then you can come to see me. Or do you think I won’t be able to get to the final?”

 

Zhengting gasped, lower lip jutting out as he huffed. “You better do!”

 

It took another bout of banter and one forceful shove to the back of his bike to get Zhengting going. The moment he disappeared down the road, Wenjun’s stomach growled, reminding him of the breakfast he had yet to take. A rushed meal and shower, a kiss goodbye for the baby brother trailing after him, a short farewell to his mom, and then he was jumping into the passenger seat. His dad dropped him off with well wishes and a reminder to call once he was done. Wenjun nodded, settling down onto one of the many chairs at the venue.

 

Something buzzed in the pocket of his trousers. He put down his yo-yo to read the message from his mom, scrolling down once he replied and finding another unread text from Zhengting.

 

_Wait for me!!!!_

He must’ve sent it right before the exam started, gauging by the time. Wenjun snorted at his phone.

_Take your time_

 

It was hours later when he stepped up to the stage again. He caught Zhengting after briefly scanning the crowd, clad still in his uniform and craning his neck to get a better look, and Wenjun’s mouth parted into the widest grin as their eyes met. Hands moved on impulse to raise and shake the trophy above his head, laughter tumbling out of him when he saw Zhengting do the same with his bag.

 

In the years to come, there would be many more trinkets and awards decorating Wenjun’s study desk. But the trophy from his first competition sits at the uppermost shelf, on the cupboard in Zhengting's room.

 

 

“Is that what I think it is?”

 

Four months into high school, a pink envelope sat conspicuously atop of his table on a Monday morning. Before Wenjun could even look at it, Zhengting had sprinted to his seat and seized the item.

 

“Oh my god. It really is a love letter. _Bi Wenjun’s got a love letter_!”

 

The rasp turned a few glances their way, causing Wenjun’s blood to pump and getting his body to move on from the initial shock. They tussled around the gaps of the desks and chairs, Zhengting spouting a string of garbled sounds while trying to slip away to his class, clutching the envelope to his chest and using his other hand to ward off his chaser. And he might be the more agile one between them, but desperation hurled Wenjun close to his tail, catching his flailing wrist and pulling him back.

 

It happened in a flash – Zhengting tiptoeing, stretching his arm as high up as it could go and Wenjun snatching the letter from his fingers. A shriek escaped him, accusations of betrayal and unfairness at how easily the younger reached over him, because while Wenjun had never been short, Zhengting had always been taller, until growth spurt turned the gap in height the other way round.

 

“Give it,” jump, “back!” jump, “I wanna,” jump, “see too!”

 

Leaping in a last ditch effort, Zhengting threw both arms across Wenjun’s shoulders to snatch the envelope, and yelped as his world tilted.

 

Wenjun stooped down, far enough to lift Zhengting’s feet off the ground and grab the dangly legs up to his sides, dashing out to the corridor where other students make way for them, already used to their daily antics. He dropped Zhengting in front of the doorway and pushed him inside, puffing from the effort of the piggyback.

 

“Go back to your class,” he heaved, turning away without catching the flush across Zhengting’s face.

 

Slumping down to his seat, Wenjun wiped the sweat across his forehead, the movement rustling the paper inside his breast pocket. He took the letter out, giving it a glance before slipping it inside his bag. It would’ve slipped past his mind, buried beneath the day’s lessons had it not been for Zhengting who materialised in his class barely a minute since the break time bell rang.

 

A drawstring bag thumped on his desk, faded crayon shin-chan print distorted by the contents inside. Wenjun owned a matching one at home, although not as well kept since his little brother had taken a liking to it.

 

The bag slid away from his reach, prompting Wenjun to cock his eyebrows at Zhengting. “What did it say?”

 

It took him a moment to get what Zhengting meant, but he groaned when he did. God, he was hungry. “I don’t know. Haven’t read it.”

 

Now it was Zhengting’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “We’re eating at the rooftop today.”

 

Once they were seated, leaning on the wall and facing the railing, Zhengting took out a lunchbox and passed it to Wenjun, putting his own on top of his thighs, using the empty bag as napkin. The elder had made it his task to bring home-cooked meals for both of them every Monday, the canteen being way too crowded for his liking with first and second years’ break times colliding.

 

“It’s not like you’ve never gotten a love letter,” Wenjun mumbled between his bites. On the contrary, even. He was sure Zhengting received one at least once a month.

 

“That’s different. This is _your_ love letter.”

 

“Precisely. Which is why it’s none of your business.”

 

Wenjun yelped when the back of chopsticks poked into his sides.

 

They wound up reading it together anyway, because Zhengting was that persistent and Wenjun was that used to giving in to his whims. And while he could feel his face growing warm at some parts, it was nothing compared to the squeals and noises Zhengting made, body gradually curling in on himself until he was but a ball and a pair of eyes peeking from behind his knees.

 

“Do you also get like this every time you read yours?” asked Wenjun, genuinely curious.

 

“But she sounds so sincere! And–and–ugh, I don’t know, why aren’t you reacting! Do you have no feelings, you stone man!? You cold, heartless, stiff telephone pole–”

 

Wenjun brushed off the insults and looked back at the letter. It would be a lie if he said he wasn’t at least flattered, but he barely knew the girl.

 

Seeing him getting quiet, Zhengting inquired in a softer voice, “What are you going to do?”

 

“I don’t know…” But they both knew that such a reply, coming from him, basically meant he was going to do nothing about it.

 

Zhengting’s lips twitched, and then he was inhaling, holding the air for a moment before exhaling it, as if heavily contemplating the words he was going to say next.

 

“You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. At least thank her. And say sorry if you can’t accept her feelings.”

 

He didn’t expect Zhengting to sound–let alone look–so serious. There’s an indecipherable glaze in his eyes as he spoke, and it took Wenjun off guard somehow, because he was used to knowing Zhengting’s emotions like the palm of his own hand.

 

“It takes a lot of courage to confess, you know. Even through a letter.”

 

Two days and a whole lot of subtle nudging later, Wenjun at last talked to her. Trying his best to let her down as gently as he could and panicking when he was, as a result, faced with a crying girl for the first time in his life. His profuse apologies only seemed to make her sob harder, and she ran away before Wenjun could rummage for a tissue.

 

“Wow. How does it feel to make a girl cry, Mr. Heartbreaker?” was how Zhengting responded after he recounted the truthfully frightening experience.

 

Wenjun gaped, wordless for a second before he could yowl, “I did what you told me to!”

 

“Yeah. And now she can at least start to move on,” he sighed, and then there was that look on his face again, the one Wenjun still couldn’t decipher, before he continued, “It’s way better than being left hanging. Or wondering what would happen if she hadn’t even tried.”

 

The question was at the tip of his tongue, but it dispersed into thin air when Zhengting punched his arm, challenging him to a race.

 

 

He parked his bicycle at the roadside and leisurely went into the store with a list of stuff his mom had asked him to get. It took ten minutes at most, but he walked out with grocery bags in each hand into an empty road.

 

“It’s your fault for not locking it!” snorted Zhengting, breathless after a good full minute of laughing in Wenjun’s face.

 

They were in his room, eating the very snacks Wenjun bought while his bicycle was stolen, a day before school holiday ended. Zhengting had dropped by to hand down his old textbooks – an annual occurrence for them.

 

“You can just take mine,” he suggested after hearing Wenjun sigh about crowded bus rides in the morning.

 

“Then what would you use?”

 

“Also my own bicycle.”

 

“You bought a new one?”

 

“No.”

 

“…Then how?”

 

“You’d bike me to school, of course. You need to buff up anyway. Can't just keep getting taller and taller, you telephone pole.”

 

What was supposed to be a fifteen-minute trip wound up taking half an hour. Zhengting screamed whenever the bicycle so much as wobbled, getting Wenjun on edge and causing them to stop a few times along the way, Zhengting constantly babbling about how unstable Wenjun was and Wenjun retorting that he should just ride the bike himself instead. It was no surprise that they arrived late, bickering throughout the whole journey and even all the way to their respective classrooms, cackling while shoving at each other.

 

The ride home was just as chaotic. Wenjun swore it would be for the last time, but the following morning found him pedalling yet again for two people, and the morning after that, and the one after that too.

 

.

 

Days bleed into weeks into months; in a blink they’ve already reached the middle of spring.

 

Just as Zhengting has been with him every step of the way, Wenjun assumes the same principle applies for him as well. But assumptions and thoughts are called such because they don’t necessarily represent facts or reality.

 

Wenjun thinks he knows everything there is to know about Zhengting, until he sees him kissing another boy at the rooftop.

 

It’s an agreement just sort of falling into place, that one would wait for the other whenever their schedules end at different times. Ever since third years were exempted from extracurricular activities, Zhengting spends his Friday afternoon revising on the rooftop, waiting for Wenjun with a box of milk and a packet of bread.

 

He’s early today, club hours cut short after the teachers had to leave for an emergency meeting. Two steps at a time, up the stairs, ignoring the staff only placard and twisting the handle, eager to share a funny story. The call of a name dies halfway in his throat, leaving only the door to rattle and signal his entrance.

 

Two pairs of eyes stare back at him, yet he can only zero in on the wide, petrified gaze – a face that should’ve been so familiar looking like a stranger at the moment.

 

Zhengting scrambles to stand up, but Wenjun is already turning, running, body moving on its own to get as far away as possible because his mind has already shut down, overloaded, too loud he can’t even hear himself think.

 

When he comes to, heaving for air, hands propped on his knees, the surrounding has changed. Few students litter around the side of the road. The bus stop is a distance away from him.

 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Wenjun goes home alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger lmao. This got way out of control. I wanted to do something short and sweet but this extremely self-indulgent monstrosity happened instead :') It'll most likely be completed within the next chapter though, then I'll be back to continue my zhengyi multichap sobs sorry biting has been feeding me so well lately I just can't not write this ᕕ( ཀ ʖ̯ ཀ)ᕗ


	2. Chapter 2

Zhou Yanchen has a nice smile. He’s got rows of neat, pearly white teeth that can make the girls giggle and swoon whenever it’s flashed their way. When he’s not smiling, though–something that admittedly doesn’t happen very often–he doesn’t look quite nearly as friendly.

 

Wenjun would know, because Yanchen is currently looming by the doorway of his class with lips set in a grim line.

 

They’re standing nearby an empty staircase, hallway deserted of students. Wenjun can’t say he didn’t see this coming, but he definitely didn’t expect Yanchen to call him out in the middle of a lesson, using an excuse of some teacher needing him for something, which really shouldn’t sound believable enough if not for that bright smile at the end of his sentence.

 

“About what you saw last week…”

 

“I didn’t tell anyone,” cuts him as soon as he sees the chance to, he words _last week_ ringing in his ears. It feels like much longer than that, the past days dragging on end. He wonders if Zhengting feels the same.

 

Yanchen blinks at him, looking rather taken aback before he shakes his head and continues. “Well, thank you, but that’s not really what I’m here for.”

 

Wenjun deflates, because he wants nothing more than this talk to be over.

 

“Have you talked to Zhengting?”

 

There it is. The dreaded question.

 

“I don’t know if you’ve spared a glance long enough to notice, but he’s basically a mess right now.”

 

Of course Wenjun is aware. He’s seen it more often, much closer than anyone else had, the most intimate audience to how Zhengting wilts and blooms according to where his emotions lead him.

 

When he is happy, he is carefree and bright, blinding, lighting up the ground, the ceiling and everything in between.

 

When he isn’t, he hides and folds into himself, disappearing so easily for someone whose existence demands attention; pulling curtains, to everyone but Wenjun.

 

He’s never been good at consoling him, most times simply offering presence, letting Zhengting pour out his heart, always listening, always indulging when the older would cry into his chest and curl around him. Patting his head and stroking his hair, his shoulder, his back, one arm secure around his frame while the other constantly moves, letting touches speak the words he couldn’t say. And Zhengting would quieten as well, sobs turning into sniffs and silent puffs, body growing lax. Then Wenjun would scoot further into the bed, arranging pillows to form a fort around them, leaning back into the plush, always careful not to make too big of a movement lest it wakes the person in his arms, closing his eyes as he settles down and shifts to balance the weight on top of him.

 

When he wakes up, it would be with a numb shoulder and sore joints. But Zhengting would blink up at him and smile, face clear of cloud and burden, sometimes content to snuggle the rest of the day away, sometimes insistent on dragging him out of bed to the shopping mall, the cinema, a restaurant – and in the end it would all be worth it, because Zhengting would laugh, loud and happy and free, and Wenjun too would follow.

 

“I know I’m in no place to meddle about this, but if you still care about him, then please.” Yanchen’s voice breaks him out of his reverie, the hint of frustration sharp and cutting.

 

He looks up to meet Yanchen’s gaze, surprised when it reflects something softer, distressed, imploring.

 

“Do something.”

 

. 

 

The guard gives him an odd look when he approaches for the fifth time. Wenjun ducks his head in shame. He’s spent the last fifteen minutes back and forth the school gate and the parking lot, watching as students begin to trickle home. Zhengting’s last period was supposed to end some moment ago, but Wenjun hasn’t caught a glimpse of him yet.

 

Not wanting to risk getting reported by the guard and his increasingly suspicious stare, he trudges into the fenced area, feet automatically stopping by his usual spot. His breath hitches when he looks up and sees the bicycle parked to his right, just as he would’ve done it. Like he always does every single school morning since the beginning of the year, except for today.

 

Steeping closer, he gazes at the garment still tied around the left handle. His spare tie. A thought that Zhengting has abandoned the bicycle enters his mind. Maybe he simply left it there over the weekend, wanting nothing to do with it after Wenjun’s cowardly stunt.

 

A rattle jerks him away from delving further into thought-up scenarios. Zhengting is standing a distance away from him, body caught in a halt. For a split-second it looks like he’s about to run, but Wenjun can see the rise and fall of his breath as he steels himself and walks towards him.

 

“You can take it back if you need it.”

 

Wenjun’s eyes snap down. His hand has apparently moved to caress the tie while his mind wonders. He drops the fabric like it burns, racking his brain for the prepared words now nowhere to be found.

 

“No, I–”

 

He doesn’t know how he manages to spot it still in the middle of a panic; probably because years of close proximity has trained him in tune to Zhengting’s smallest, subtlest movements. The slight shift in his gait stops Wenjun’s stuttering, diverting his attention to the hand hidden behind his back.

 

Earlier this afternoon he had waited for the familiar intrusion, the telltale greeting. With ten minutes of break time left, table bare of the usual snacks and lunchbox, he finally went to the canteen. Two packets of bread were all he could get without risking being late for the following period, during which Zhou Yanchen dropped him a visit.

 

Now, looking at the corner of the bag peeking from behind Zhengting’s trousers, a derisive laugh escapes him at the disappointment he felt hours ago.

 

“You brought mine?” he asks, taking Zhengting’s confused state as a chance to seize the bag.

 

The content clunks together along with Zhengting’s silent gasp. Wenjun loosens the string handles and rummages inside – one of the boxes is light, empty, but the other weighs down his grip. He takes it out and clenches it in his hands.

 

Even when he’s become a third year, Zhengting never stops bringing him meals every Monday despite their lunch break differing. He usually hands it to Wenjun in the morning with a threat to finish everything, and regardless of the food being enough to feed at least two people, that’s what Wenjun always does, because when Zhengting collects the empty box it will be with a satisfied smile.

 

Three days. Seventy-two hours. Wenjun didn’t know it was possible to miss something so much within what he considers a relatively short time.

 

Zhengting is adamant in keeping his eyes on the ground, but even through the strands of his bangs Wenjun can clearly see the eye bags hanging halfway down his cheeks. He looks gaunt, shoulders tense and folded in, and it hurts all the more because instead of being the one to pick him back up, this time Wenjun is the very cause of it.

 

He carefully puts the lunchbox into his own backpack and places it inside the basket on the bicycle.

 

“Let’s go home.”

 

.

 

Neither of them speaks during the trip back, and Zhengting opts to grab onto the seat instead of Wenjun’s sides, but they are at least together, and he’s thankful for that.

 

Shortly after he parks the bike, before Zhengting can slip away to his house, Wenjun takes his hand and silently pleads him to follow. And it’s not like he expects Zhengting to flop down the bed like he usually does, to snatch the softest pillow to hug, to tangle his limbs in Wenjun’s blanket and make himself comfortable, but seeing him with his back to the wall, looking skittish and out of place in a room he previously treated like his own, it roots Wenjun to the spot.

 

“I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring your texts and calls,” he starts, and waits, until Zhengting is looking at him to say the next part. “Sorry for running away.”

 

A shake of head, a small huff, and then Zhengting is scoffing, more to himself than towards Wenjun. “I don’t blame you for being grossed out.”

 

He feels his stomach drop. Of course Zhengting came to that conclusion – anyone would, really, after what he’s done. He’s just stupid enough to realise the repercussion only when it hits him in the face.

 

“I’m not. I’m really not. I’m just–I was just, shocked. You never told me anything about it.”

 

Wenjun has never been good at expressing himself through words, but he hopes the desperation behind them come across somehow, because he truly doesn’t want, never meant to hurt Zhengting like that.

 

It's a stalemate for the following minutes with none of them knowing what to do, throwing and stealing glances, until Wenjun calms down enough to remember how their arguments always end. Although in comparison all the matters they’d fought about was but trivial, never lasting more than a day, it makes his longing for the comfort of reconciliation that much stronger, now more than ever understanding Zhengting’s needs for physical affection.

 

So Wenjun opens his arms and calls for Zhengting. “Come here,” he beckons, but Zhengting’s hesitancy is visible in the way he flinches back, and Wenjun’s heart breaks a little.

 

“You… Are you sure you don’t mind?”

 

And he wanted to wait, again, for the elder to make the next move, to approach him on his own accord, but the frailty in his question has Wenjun’s feet moving before he can command them to still. Has his arms flying to envelope that hunched up frame, a far cry from its usual grace and pride. The moment they do, it’s like a magic spell; how the swirling black mass in his chest stops moving and melts into warmth, at once losing strength and drawing it back from the embrace.

 

“Why would I? Don’t be dumb,” he clenches tighter, hands pressing into sharp shoulders because he can’t stand the insecurity in Zhengting’s eyes, in his trembling voice.

 

It takes a while, but slowly, tentatively, Zhengting’s fingers curl to clutch at his shirt. Only then does Wenjun allow himself a small smile.

 

. 

 

The days go on as usual, or at least that’s what Wenjun would like to tell himself. He supposes it’s only normal for dynamics to change over the years, him and Zhengting being the anomaly for remaining the same for over a decade. Even the strongest constant will alter when introduced to a new variable.

 

And Zhengting would have groaned, smacked or thrown something at him for making a mathematical metaphor, but it’s not like Wenjun has ever voiced out the thought. Even if he does, he doubts Zhengting will be able to hear it over the strain his brain is currently going through. He’s frowning, the skin between his eyebrows furrowed, lips jutting further out with each passing minute of attempted failure.

 

What Wenjun normally does is pinch his pout and laugh when Zhengting hits him. Then he will grab the sheet of paper and skim through the questions, flipping past a textbook a year advanced to grasp some basic understanding before going over the paper together. They don't always get the correct answers, and sometimes Wenjun too would get frustrated over his inability to solve the problems, but it’s much better than having to do it alone, Zhengting would say, giggling.

 

What Wenjun does now instead is peer over his book as Zhengting sulks, grumbling “I don’t get it” while Yanchen laughs and patiently explains one more time. He watches Zhengting’s nods–small and slow at first–grow frantic as his eyes light up, leaning closer towards Yanchen to contribute to the small scribbles. They flip the answer key and Zhengting lets out a happy little yelp when he sees the identical numbers, flashing a bright grin to Yanchen when he tells him “good job!”

 

It’s supposedly a thing to be grateful for, because Wenjun wouldn’t have to be disturbed in his own studies. Yanchen could even teach him the subjects he doesn’t understand too, and _‘isn’t that just great’_ , Zhengting had told him enthusiastically when he suggested the joint study session.

 

Not for the first time since they started, Wenjun wonders if it makes a difference whether or not he’s in this room.

 

 

“Yanchen is nice,” he blurts out after the dinner the aforementioned couldn’t join due to a prior appointment. Relief had filled him for a short second when Yanchen declined, before guilt and confusion washed over it.

 

Wenjun hears an affirmative hum and turns to glance at Zhengting. Sunset coats the road and sky in an evening glow, casting orange light on the stray strands of his hair fluttered by the wind. He looks content like this, a smile ghosting across his face, hand absentmindedly rubbing his full tummy.

 

Times like this, Wenjun can’t help thinking their days together are numbered. In less than a month it will be the college entrance exam. Soon after is graduation. He hasn’t asked Zhengting about his plans, hasn’t yet dared to, afraid the answer would be something he doesn’t want to accept.

 

“He really is,” replies Zhengting, oblivious to the falter in Wenjun’s steps.

 

It’s weird, because he sounds happy, and Wenjun should be happy for him too, but instead there’s this pang in his chest, the one that makes his breath short, makes it difficult to inhale for a moment. It slows him to a stop, watching Zhengting continue walking until his back is just out of reach.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

There are countless words drumming in his ribs. Fractions of thoughts, emotions, flitting all at the same time, way too many and too noisy to keep track of, threatening to burst and explode. Zhengting tilts his head, waiting for an answer. The sunrays slip from behind his head into Wenjun’s burning eyes.

 

“Too full,” he chokes out and Zhengting sniggers, skipping back to his side.

 

“C’mon. Just one more block.” He takes Wenjun’s hand and gives it a squeeze, already starting to tug him forward. “We’ll be home soon.”

 

Wenjun hates that even in the midst of turmoil, his heart still skips a beat at the contact. At Zhengting’s smile and his steady, easy touch, something he took for granted before that day at the rooftop a month ago, feeling more like a lifetime away. It had taken constant reassurance – silent and verbal and physical. Sometimes Wenjun can still see him hesitate, heard him think twice before putting a hand across his shoulder, around his arm, on his thigh. Faltering in the middle of a laugh to right his body, to stop from leaning into Wenjun’s side. But they’re getting there. To how it was before.

 

He looks at their clasped hands and drags his feet a little slower.

 

If only things could’ve remained unchanged.

(If only they could stay like this forever.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am,, terribly sorry for saying this story would be completed within the next update I clearly can't be trusted with my own words but!!!! I've roughly planned out how this is gonna end so bear with me for one more chapter :') Also, thank you so much for the comments, they motivated me to get this part aka the angst part aka my biggest weakness out lmao please accept this heart as my gratitude (✿˵◕ ɜ◕˵)っ♥


	3. Chapter 3

Wenjun has always been good at settling. He watches the movie everyone wants to see and eats at the place everyone decides upon. Accepts and does the duties he’s assigned with. Waits until everybody else has done so to choose among given options. There’s never a lot left, but he’s never minded.

 

From the corner of his eye, he observes a hand reaching over to brush the lock of hair he’s been itching to fix ever since Zhengting picked him up from class. Would’ve done it had he not seen Yanchen walking in tow, smile big and distracting. Now they’re at the bus stop sitting beside each other, Wenjun scrolling past his phone without really seeing, Zhengting and Yanchen talking about the mock tests and subjects and classmates and teachers, chatting, laughing. Then Yanchen flicks back the stray tuft above Zhengting’s head, patting it down with his fingers.

 

“It was sticking out,” grins him, and Zhengting lets out a bashful ‘ah’ and giggles his thanks.

 

Judging from his reaction, it’s probably the first time Yanchen has done that. Wenjun himself has lost count on how many times he’s done the same, be it on his own accord or Zhengting whining at him, asking whether he looks fine, if his hair is neat, if everything’s in place – joint laughter fills his ears and he grips his phone tighter.

 

Wenjun is good at settling.

 

So when Zhengting moves to pull him in the direction of his house, he steps back and shakes his head. Because Zhengting might still go to school and come home with him everyday, but for the past week they’ve been ending afternoon sitting on a bench, waiting for the bus that will take Yanchen to their neighbourhood, to Zhengting’s place, his room; where the next hours will be spent poring over textbooks and on conversations of people and things he scarcely knows. And Wenjun can’t help it if he feels more and more like an intruder each day, tired of blocking these thoughts he knows he shouldn’t have and hating himself for it.

 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to ask me to come along.”

 

Zhengting quirks his eyebrows in question, worry surfacing, and Wenjun quickly scrambles for something to blurt, realising how dismissive he’d sounded.

 

“I don’t mind giving you guys, uh, privacy.” He tacks on a shrug for good measure, trying not to flinch from Zhengting’s prying eyes.

 

“What do you mean–oh.” The frown that was beginning to form on his face is replaced by a blank look, then a sharp inhale and finally, mortification. “What–just what are you thinking, oh my god!?”

 

The speed at which various emotions flash across Zhengting’s face is always fascinating to watch. Less so, however, when slaps are raining down on his arms.

 

“Aw, aw, ouch! Stop hitting me, it hurts!”

 

“Do you even hear yourself talk? Huh? What did you just say!?”

 

“I only said I’d give you some privacy. Maybe you can study better that way, what’s wrong with that? You’re the one whose mind went somewhere else.”

 

The blush on his skin is actually visible now, from anger and embarrassment. He gives Wenjun one last particularly hard smack and stomps away, looking every bit like the textbook definition of a petulant child. It’s been a while since the last time Zhengting sulks to this extent, so Wenjun couldn’t help the smile creeping up his mouth, although he tries his best to bite it down when the elder turns around.

 

“I don’t care, you’re still joining us,” Zhengting glares, folding his arms fully expecting the other to follow – and Wenjun does, with a sigh, falling into steps behind him. The sound of door unlocking almost drowns him when he murmurs, “Me and Yanchen… We’re not like that.”

 

It takes a delayed second for Wenjun to react, but by then Zhengting has already fled inside, socked feet thumping on the floor to the beat of his pounding heart.

 

 

They get along well – that much is obvious in the way they talk and interact, easy in each other’s spaces. If he were to ask anyone, the general consensus would probably be ‘very good friends’ or something along the line, if a bit touchy feely, although that’s a given with Zhengting in the equation. Taking it into consideration, the lack of distance between Yanchen and Zhengting suddenly seems normal in comparison to what Wenjun is used to experiencing firsthand.

 

It makes him wonder how he and Zhengting look in other people’s eyes. Do assumptions form in their head, when Zhengting plops down onto his lap and Wenjun’s arms swiftly circle around his waist? All the times they lean on one another, whispering close, lips barely an inch away from skin, just what kind of picture they must’ve made.

 

But he’s not the one kissing Zhengting at the rooftop of their school.

 

And so the train of thought comes to another full circle, going round and round in an endless track, and by the end of three hours Wenjun is none the wiser. Be it in the exact nature of Yanchen and Zhengting’s relationship or in biology, the open textbook in front of him miserably untouched. Nonetheless, the other two seem to have made full use of the session as usual, pages filled with notes and exercise papers tidied up into a bundle. He supposes it’s a good thing, allowing his own lack of progress to go under the radar. Or not.

 

“Are you okay?” asks Zhengting as they walk back after sending Yanchen off. Wenjun puts on a clueless look. “You seem distracted today.”

 

He hums to stall for time, settling for a safe reply. “Just not in the mood for studying, I guess.”

 

They resume walking in silence for some time. Wenjun thought that would’ve been it, until he hears another mutter.

 

“Sorry for forcing you to come.”

 

“…What’s this, who are you? Did a spirit posses your body or something?”

 

Zhengting breaks out into an angry whine, raising his fist at Wenjun, but instead of landing a hit he clutches at the baggy sleeve and scurries close. It’s not hard to guess what he’s currently thinking with the unnatural way he keeps his eyes strictly ahead, lips tight and expression tense with badly concealed fear. He’s so easy to scare. Wenjun muses on whether or not Yanchen is aware of this side of Zhengting. If it endears and amuses him the same way it does Wenjun.

 

“You know how busy I’ve been getting lately with the exam preparation and all… I just thought it’d be nice if we can still spend time together.”

 

He stills, head twisting to gaze at Zhengting. Wenjun doesn’t know how many times he’s been caught by surprise today, by words that seemingly come out of nowhere. Willing his heart rate to slow and legs to continue moving, he clears his throat with a chuckle. “You love me that much, huh?”

 

“Shut up,” Zhengting growls, letting go of his sleeve in mock anger. The movement grazes their forearms against one another, light friction burning Wenjun’s skin. “I’m just saying, you can refuse next time. I won’t force you again.”

 

With his right arm now freed, he slings it around Zhengting’s shoulder and tugs him closer, smiling when he meets no resistance. Relishing in the contact, he dares a playful remark, “How can I, after you say something like that? I’ll hang around for moral support. Make sure you won’t fail from missing me too much.”

 

He doesn’t need to look to know how hard Zhengting is rolling his eyes. The laugh he lets out this time is genuine, unsuppressed.

 

They come to a stop in front of the wall dividing two houses, Wenjun reluctant to let go and Zhengting unmoving.

 

“What if I fail for real?”

 

Wenjun scoffs, pushing away to properly face him. “Silly. Of course you’ll pass. You’ve studied hard. You’ll do well,” he asserts, giving Zhengting’s shoulder a light punch.

 

The pout Zhengting tries to keep is overpowered by a smile. His eyes flit to Wenjun’s with mischief written underneath them. “Then, if I pass, can you promise me to do something?”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Make your promise first.”

 

“Fine.” A raised eyebrow, demanding more, and Wenjun sighs, drawling, “Yes, I promise. Now tell me what is it.”

 

Zhengting repays him by promptly dashing to his house, chortling all the way and yelling “I’ll tell you after!” right before he slams the door shut, leaving Wenjun alone and dumbfounded.

 

.

 

Out of even the wildest scenarios it could possibly entail, Wenjun still would have never listed being forced onto a date as a probable option. But here he is, two days away from a movie and dinner date with a senior, a girl from Zhengting’s class half of the male student body is swooning over.

 

“You want me to do what?!”

 

“You promised!” retorts Zhengting, sounding way too invested for something that shouldn’t be anywhere near the top of his concern.

 

More than the request itself, Wenjun is baffled by how he had used something as momentous as passing the college entrance exam to rope him into this situation.

 

“Because I know you wouldn’t agree otherwise,” Zhengting mumbles, “She’s a nice girl, pretty to boot, _and_ she already likes you, there’s nothing to lose here.”

 

“But I don’t know her?”

 

The aggressiveness with which he speaks dissipates along with a deep breath, tone softening, cajoling, “You always reject them using the same excuse. How about trying to get to know the person this time?”

 

There’s still a fraction of uneasiness, a protesting voice in the back of his brain, but he knows he won’t be able to resist for long when Zhengting gets like this. Zhengting knows it too, if the rueful smile he sends Wenjun says anything, apologetic yet insistent.

 

 

Try. He supposes he can do that, mustering up a pleasant greeting upon meeting the girl, ten minutes early because _‘it’s not gentlemanly to make your date wait,’_ Zhengting had said before shooing him out of his own house.

 

He’s not exactly the best at starting conversations, but she is affable enough to keep their talks going. It's easy to see where her popularity comes from, aside from the obviously pleasing appearance, and it only puzzles Wenjun further on what exactly she sees in him. How people develop such feelings has always been a mystery to him. The idea of falling in love at first sight, the way it works, if they could decide upon a look that this is indeed the person to give your heart to. Coincidentally, it’s the very theme of the movie they’re watching. The question slips out of him during a discussion fresh out of the theatre.

 

“I don’t think you can choose who you fall for. It just happens naturally,” she laughs, freezing Wenjun in his track.

 

Flashes of a face flood him, unprompted. A smile, a sulk, a playful look, the fearful stare he hasn’t been able to forget, the laughter he can so vividly hear, the way his name spills out of those lips. Nevertheless, the voice now calling him is different from the one inside his head.

 

“Where do you want to eat?”

 

“…Ah? I’m okay with anything, you can choose.”

 

“Hmm, let’s go to this place then. Zhengting told me it’s your favourite.”

 

Something in him shifts – Wenjun doesn’t know what exactly, but it scorches him with the need to get away.

 

“Sorry, I think I have to leave,” he spits out, “Sorry. I’m really sorry.”

 

She lets him go in a daze, and he feels bad, truly, but the guilt is overwhelmed by the urge to flee and sort out his mind. The bus ride home drifts by and before he knows it he’s missed two stops, stumbling to get out. A message vibrates through his pocket.

 

_How was the movie? ^^_

 

A single text, and that’s all it takes to cease his spiralling. Wenjun stares at the screen and gives up on trying to make sense of his feelings, of where they wish to lead him, and decides to just follow.

 

He starts typing, thumbs moving to the pace of his feet. One reply, then another, and another, until he reaches the front door.

 

_Are you eating right now? Stop texting me! You’ve got to talk to her instead, talk >:(_

 

Wenjun leaves the light off and throws his body down onto the bed, phone still in hand. Skimming over the chat, he stops contemplating and presses the call button. It picks up on the third ring.

 

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

 

He takes a second to soak in the sound of Zhengting’s voice and gives a noncommittal hum. “I’m on my way back.”

 

“So quick? How was it?”

 

There are faint sounds of rustling, a clatter, Zhengting probably stopping whatever he’s doing to hold the phone better. He can see the elder’s room from the window right across of his own, shielded by a curtain with translucent yellow shining through.

 

“She’s friendly. Easy to talk to.”

 

“Right! I told you so.”

 

“We talked about you.”

 

“Huh? Why would you–”

 

“She said you’re planning to go to a college out of town.” He’d found it hard to believe, but the sudden silence tells him it must’ve been true. He swallows, trying not to let his voice shake as he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

There's a long stretch before the response comes, but the time gap doesn’t ease the sting it pricks him with. “You never asked.”

 

It leaves Wenjun with no room to answer, because to say it was out of fear, the explanation would be something he is unqualified to give – not when he hasn’t fully understood it himself.

 

“I’ll be leaving in the morning,” Zhengting continues, heedless of the drop in Wenjun’s stomach, unaware of the panic rising within him. “Mom has a friend in the city. She said I could stay there and help with their restaurant while waiting for the result of my application. Scope for a place to rent as well.”

 

“What if you don’t get accepted.”

 

“How could you say that? My first two choices are in that city!” he huffs, grumbling, and after some thought adds on a grumpy defence. “If both were rejected, well, the third option is in the neighbouring city anyway. And don’t you dare suggest I’ll fail that too!”

 

He’s planned it through, Wenjun realises. He wonders for how long and how many others have been told. Perhaps he’s the last one to know.

 

“Hey, Wenjun?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Make sure you remember to go out at least once a week. I won’t be here to kick you out of your room or drag you for outings. You have a reputation to upkeep now, Mr. Heartthrob, can’t let those girls down. Don’t let Xinchun spread your past photos as well. What would they say if they knew you were a nerdy lanky kid who spent more time with his yoyos than with his friends?”

 

He gives a fond smile at that, bittersweet even as his chest hollows. “You love me anyway.”

 

“…Yeah, I do.”

 

The reply is small, something he might’ve not heard had he really been outside. But he’s in the quiet of his room and it pierces right through that he stops fiddling with his phone. Stops moving altogether.

 

“I did, even when you were that quiet boy with the thick glasses who had no idea how to talk to people. God, you still are, even now. You only lost the glasses.”

 

A snicker cuts through the line, a short suspended silence as his heart races before Zhengting’s voice creeps back in.

 

“Still that same boy who gives away his toys and pocket money to his little brother and smiles about it. The boy who chooses to accept leftovers because he doesn’t want to contend. You really need to put up a little more fight, you know? People will make use of you. Remember that time I made you angry and you ended up apologising because I cried?”

 

“Zhengting…”

 

“Let me–let me talk. Let me get this out, okay. I need to get this out. You might not want to have anything to do with me after this but, listen to me for one last time.”

 

Every nerve of his body thrums, in dread, in anticipation, mouth itching for speech but he holds it back, focusing on the slightest noise from the phone.

 

“All this while it’s just been the two of us. And I’m happy about that. I could’ve let it go on like this forever, stay by your side, have you by mine and be content with it, but I started wanting more, you see. And it scares me. How even the smallest things can give so much happiness or grief. This ugly, ugly jealousy and possessiveness I have no right to feel… I don’t want it. I thought I only wanted the best for you. I thought I wanted you to be happy. But I’m more selfish than I thought.” At this his words stop, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I’m sorry, Wenjun.”

 

And Wenjun has so many things he wants to say, but the line goes flat and he shoots up his bed, staring out the window.

 

 

The thud he makes when he jumps over the balcony is loud, foot slipping from the railing and landing him on his ass across the floor. Wenjun hisses, pushing off his palms to rise and knock on the window, but before his knuckles hit the glass the curtain is withdrawn with a sharp pull.

 

Zhengting’s face is flushed red, fresh tracks of tears glistening under the moonlight, and it hits him all at once, how his chest simultaneously constricts and expands as night breeze surges in through the open window. The wind sweeps the hair out of Zhengting’s eyes, glassy orbs seizing the air out of his lungs. It’s overwhelming, but Wenjun braces himself and takes it all in, because he’s pushed it aside for too long.

 

“You–did you just jump from your room? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was, you could’ve fallen, oh my god, if you sprained anything–”

 

Wenjun lets himself be pulled inside, heart growing impossibly larger as he watches Zhengting scan over his body, his own distress superseded by worry. Only once he’s made sure there’s no injury does he seem to remember the state he was in, backing away from Wenjun, face hardening with realisation.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be on the bus still? What are you doing here…”

 

“I lied.”

 

Baffled, his mouth falls open, but Wenjun is quicker to speak.

 

“What you said over the phone.”

 

If Zhengting had anything to say a moment ago, it’s all swallowed within the next breath. He retracts and holds out his hand when Wenjun makes a move. “Stop.”

 

“Zhengting–”

 

“Don’t look at me.”

 

“You told me to put up more fight.”

 

He catches Zhengting’s wrist, feeling it tremble under his hold.

 

“I want to be the only one fixing your hair when it gets messy. I want to be the only one you bring a lunchbox for. The only one biking you to school every morning. The one you wait for when it’s time to go home.”

 

Somewhere between his sentences Zhengting lifts his gaze up off the floor, droplets pooling on lower lashes that have yet to dry and rolling down damp cheeks. Wenjun's hand slides up from his bony wrist, grazing over knuckles and curled fingers, giving them a light squeeze before letting go.

 

“I want to be with you. So don’t go.”

 

“You’re so unfair.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You’re–stupid, you’re so stupid. You’re so dumb–”

 

“Yeah.” Wenjun walks over, slowly, to give Zhengting the time and space to step away. But he doesn’t. So he does the thing he’s been wanting to do ever since that day on the rooftop.

 

“I hate you,” Zhengting sobs, breathing warm puffs on his skin, fists on Wenjun’s shirt pulling him closer.

 

Wenjun smiles and tastes the salty tang slipping past his lips. His or Zhengting’s – he’s not sure. Doesn’t matter. All he knows is it’s a wonderful feeling to finally get what he longs for. “I love you too.”

 

.

 

Zhengting leaves the town on a morning train as scheduled. Wenjun sends him off, and if both their eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, nobody says a thing.

 

He stands on the platform, phone on his ear and eyes on the train, on Zhengting staring back at him from his window seat. Wenjun had dialled his number the second Zhengting boarded the train, bombarded with complaints about how he had to drag and store his luggage first, and _if you could just call back in a moment, thank you,_ despite Wenjun being able to see and hear him giggling, phone clamped between his shoulder and cheek.

 

 _Look outside_ , he told him, and the grin he received in return is blinding.

 

“Zhengting.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

There’s still so much more he wants to tell him, one night and a short morning insufficient to convey months of repressed feelings, but he thinks of how Zhengting has done it for much longer – so he stores them and says instead, “Wait for me.”

 

An announcement cuts through the station, echoing in both of their phones. Zhengting looks at him in surprise before his eyes soften and a smile blooms across his face. The train begins moving. Machine drowns the sound of his voice. Wenjun reads it off his lips and clings to the answer, sending a small smile of his own.

 

_I will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the end of the main story, but I'm not really happy with the ending so I'll probably add some snippets as epilogue/to clear up things hahaha. Thank you for sticking with this, for the lovely comments and kudos, I really appreciate them all sobs tysm ♡♡♡(´• ᴗ •̥`✿)


	4. Chapter 4

It’s only a week later – a week full of phone calls and texts and dark, blurry videos of Zhengting in his temporary room, tired from the day of work but smiling, adjusting. His parents had been reluctant, afraid of imposing on a stranger, and it was Zhengting’s mom to convince them it would be fine. Welcomed, even. The restaurant was always crowded on school holidays, she said, and another part-timer would be of great help.

 

So after a week of putting on his best behaviour and running errands, Wenjun heaves his suitcase off the train and strides to the exit. He can see Zhengting from the distance, typing in his phone and looking around, and his heart swells with the urge to run and hug him like those scenes in cliché romance flicks. It’s too crowded to give that even a second thought, however, so instead Wenjun hides between the surge of people and sneaks behind, pressing his palms to Zhengting’s back.

 

He jolts and jumps away, whisking around, eyes blown wide immediately narrowing when he sees Wenjun laughing and sure enough, a slap on the chest and another to the shoulder precedes any form of greeting.

 

“You annoying–scared me to death!”

 

Wenjun grasps his wrist with ease, and just like that a week seems to turn into nothing, seeping back into familiarity, normalcy, to how it should be. The blows do nothing to dim his smile, widen it instead, shortly infecting Zhengting with a twin upturn of lips.

 

Zhengting fills him in on their host family on the way, hands moving animatedly as he talks about the couple and their child, a twelve year old son he’s heard about many times in their phone calls. Wenjun never once takes his eyes off him, basking in his presence in the flesh as if to quench the deficiency of the past week.

 

“Are you even listening to me?” Zhengting frowns, pinching his thigh.

 

Wenjun hisses and rubs the sore spot. “The food is delicious, you think you’ve gained weight because of it but you just can’t stop eating because you’re hungry all the time. The kid is bratty but adorable. You’ve always wanted a younger sibling and you feel like you finally got one, and I don’t count because I act like an old man. What else?” he cocks his eyebrow in a challenge, smirking a little when Zhengting begrudgingly folds his arms and continues blabbering.

 

They duck past the half-opened front garage, where a woman greets them warmly upon sight. Zhengting introduces him to the landlady and she ushers them both upstairs, refusing Zhengting’s offer to set up the tables by telling him to help Wenjun get settled instead, asking them to come back down when they’re done for lunch.

 

The guestroom is bigger than what he’s expected from the glimpses in Zhengting’s videos, the bed a little wider than the one in his room back at home, and they’ve never had trouble sharing that space between the two of them. Wenjun doesn’t think he will be using the sleeping bag his dad had him bring.

 

When they walk downstairs, two other persons have joined the lady, bags of groceries on the floor and table. Introductions are continued over lunch, Zhengting doing most of the talking and sharing stories about Wenjun while he smiles sheepishly and occasionally retaliates.

 

 

“You’re so tall. You’re even taller than Zhengting,” the boy tells him as he looks up in awe. They’re walking by the park, past streets lined up with shops and on the way to the nearest mall. Their hosts had in goodwill insisted on sending him out sightseeing for his first day, and their son in turn insisted to tag along, clinging to Zhengting like his life depended on it.

 

“You’re pretty tall yourself, for your age.”

 

The boy beams and puffs out his chest. “Of course! I’m going to grow taller than Zhengting and call him shorty one day.”

 

“Huang Minghao you–”

 

“It’s Justin, call me Justin!” he huffs, sticking out his tongue when Zhengting mutters an exasperated _‘brat’_.

 

Wenjun watches the exchange in amusement, although he swiftly averts his eyes when Zhengting looks at him threateningly. Unlike Justin, he doesn’t have an age immunity to save him from the beatings.

 

“Wait until it’s your turn. He was all shy and well behaved to me on the first day too,” grumbles Zhengting.

 

They return after stopping by at least five different stalls, trying out all sorts of local food and drinks. Justin is immediately called to the kitchen by his mother, given a scolding to not bother their guest too much, and Zhengting shows the boy a mocking face despite quickly telling her that it’s all right. He pulls Wenjun to sit down and passes him the menu book, telling him to memorise as best as he can. His short explanations get significantly longer on the dishes he likes, and it's not Wenjun’s fault that he naturally remembers those better. It’s got nothing to do with how Zhengting’s eyes light up or how his voice grows excited as he babbles on about how good this-and-that tastes, really.

 

Near the opening time he’s handed a shirt to change into, a half-apron, a stack of memos and pen to jot down orders. Everything after that passes by in a blur, because Zhengting’s mom wasn’t merely saying words of excuse when she talked about how packed the restaurant was.

 

“You doing okay?”

 

He’s sitting on the floor, leaning on the wall, grabbing the bottle of cold water from Zhengting’s outstretched hand and gulping it empty in a matter of seconds. Justin’s father had taken one look and sent him for a ten-minute break once the queue starts dissipating.

 

“Yeah. It’s. Kind of hectic.”

 

His forehead is sweaty, dark strands sticking to the damp skin. Zhengting takes out a napkin and pats it down, brushing back his bangs and patting his cheek. “You’ll get used to it soon.”

 

The touch is cooling on his face – Wenjun almost chases the fingers when they slowly retract. Zhengting chuckles and ruffles his hair, stepping out to where the customers are. It's unreasonable to feel longing when they’re still under the same roof, sharing the same space, but that’s what creeps over him anyway and so Wenjun stands, ignores the strain in his muscles, and trails after Zhengting.

 

 

An afternoon spent on playing with Justin, exploring the area and helping out with opening preparations once the sun starts to stoop soon becomes a new normal. He makes fewer mistakes now, repeating orders without having to sneak glances at the menu, legs no longer shaking into the fourth hour; he even has the time to help Zhengting carry trays and clean tables on slower days, flicking leftovers at each other until a customer calls and they both scurry apart.

 

It’s well into his second week when Zhengting receives a call from back home one night, cheers crackling through the phone speaker. Once the call ends Zhengting jumps into his arms, mindless of the sweaty cling on their skin and clothes, fresh off work before a chance to even change. And he’s so elated – grin splitting his face, beaming, hopping still even with Wenjun’s arms tightly securing his waist – that it’s impossible not to be happy for him despite the little drop in his stomach, quickly pushed aside in favour of words of congratulations.

 

Perhaps the pace has lulled him, the ease with which everything has been going, waking up each day and falling asleep in each other’s presence, making him forget this is all but a temporary arrangement.

 

“I guess you have to start finding a place to rent for real now.”

 

“Hmm. It’d be great if I can stay at the campus dorms though.”

 

The bed dips as Zhengting sits down beside him, droplets of water splattering his thighs. Wenjun slides the towel hanging off his neck and rubs it over Zhengting’s head, gently pressing into his scalp.

 

“Finish drying your own hair first,” giggles Zhengting, but he makes no move to pull away, only scooting closer.

 

For a while the only sounds echoing are the ruffling of hair and faint vibrations of Zhengting’s phone, set aside somewhere between the pillows and covers. When he feels it stop dripping, Wenjun leans back and puts down his towel. Zhengting peeks at him and smiles, sweet, hair messy and skin tender from the shower, and it takes all of Wenjun not to kiss him right there and then.

 

“What is it?” Zhengting bumps their knees together, slightly raising his chin.

 

“Why did you set me up on that date?”

 

It's only for a split second, but Wenjun can see him flinch, eyes darting away. They roll back to meet his once again, slowly. “You said she was the prettiest girl in my grade.”

 

It had been for a truth or dare game, when they were stuck waiting for the rain to stop at the school terrace. An offhand answer, recalling a face and a name his classmates brought up often. He’d even forgotten about it until just a moment ago. “Seriously? Just because of that?”

 

“It’s not only that, I…” he frowns, a mixture of defensive and shy, shrinking back from Wenjun. “Call it closure. I wanted to see you find someone before I leave.”

 

The silence that fills the room this time isn’t as pleasant, and for sure Zhengting feels it too, fingers starting to fidget.

 

“Why are you asking me thi–”

 

“I thought you were with Yanchen.”

 

Zhengting’s snort is delayed. So is his reply, mouth twitching, opening before finally admitting, “I just want to know what it feels like to kiss a boy. Once and for all.”

 

“…And?” he asks, because Zhengting still has that look on his face, contemplating and hesitant and clearly with more to say.

 

“And give it up. Forget everything. Maybe date and get married to a nice girl later on. Or be a bachelor for life.” He glances at Wenjun and sniggers, turning away to stare at the ceiling. “Kidding.”

 

The tension has slipped from his face, replaced by a sort of weariness, or acceptance. Wenjun doesn’t dare to assume. The previous him would’ve been out of words, letting the moment sink heavy in his chest and swallowed down the stomach, but Wenjun likes to think he’s changed, and he’s learned. So he takes Zhengting’s hand and doesn’t look away.

 

“We can be old bachelors together.”

 

Zhengting laughs, a little helpless, a little hopeful. He returns Wenjun’s grip.

 

“Doesn’t sound too bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm back to tie up loose ends :') Sorry if it's kinda forced lmao. It doesn't feel right to leave this hanging on the previous chapter since I've now made this a prequel to one of my one-shots haha. As of now I'd say the story is complete, but another update or two to fill in the gap years between this and the sequel is not unlikely either wink wink. As always, thank you so much for the comments and kudos and love you've all been showing, I love you all (✿˵◕ ɜ◕˵)つ✫・* ❤

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger lmao. This got way out of control. I wanted to do something short and sweet but this extremely self-indulgent monstrosity happened instead :') It'll most likely be completed within the next chapter though, then I'll be back to continue my zhengyi multichap sobs sorry biting has been feeding me so well lately I just can't not write this ᕕ( ཀ ʖ̯ ཀ)ᕗ


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